#liquid nouns

[beatsforbrothels]

Fielded - Liquid Nouns (Kenny Segal Remix)

[purpleprosaist]

i translate the name "Mountain Dew" into toki pona

i end up with a phrase that could just as easily be referring to breast milk

[prokopetz]

Contents of a flask labelled "[noun] of [effect]" in descending order of trustworthiness:

Potion

Elixir

Draught

Tonic

Solution

Formula

Liquid

Sauce

[azzayofchaos]

Since my other Nether worldbuilding post was received pretty well... I'm back on my bullshit!

This time featuring zoning and biomes of the Neath: Lore below cut

Nether (noun): the formidable hellscape straddling the boundery between the Fragments of the Overworld and Death's Realms.

Derived from Beneath -> Neath -> Neth -> Nether.

The Nether is most easily accessable through outer regions of the nether, regions that are comparatively closed-off, and lacking in biodiversity compared to the Deep Nether where most Neath civilizations are centered.

The Neth is divided into three primary zones, distinguished by altitude and general climates.

The Calfactory Zone: the largest and most iconic of the three, the Calfactory zone is blisteringly hot and bone-dry, it's most prominent features are its abundant seas and lakes of magma, and the massive Supermagmas atriums that are common above the magma. In the largest of these atriums, the ceiling may be so high above as to be completely invisible from the ground, obscured by an ever present smog of toxic vapor and minerals formed in the self-generated micro-climates that are generated from the rising heat of the lava that begins to cool at a higher altitude.  

In the Basalt Deltas and other biomes around the edges of these lakes, massive pillars of rock and crystals bulwark the more-visible ceiling. 

The most common of this zone’s biomes is the Crimson woods, home to hearty thermal-philic fungi and plants that grow on the minerals and vapors of the lakes. Many are carnivorous in their lack of access to water or sunlight, and these forests contain many sub-biomes and ecosystems of flourishing life. 

The Wastes are perhaps the most desolate regions of the Neath, irradiated deserts of red-rock, brimstone, and sharp sand. Even the vast majority of nether-folk avoid these deserts due to the leftover radiation that rots and destroys anything that waits too long. The only forms of life are particularly robust lichens and bacteria that are happy to sit by the boiling pools of sulfur and mud and toxic sludge that dot the landscape. Growing within the rocks themselves are colonies of amorphous fungus, called geocorpus molds, they get their spores into cracks in the soft netherack and slowly feed on it; the ‘rock meat’ is considered a delicacy in nether cuisine. 

The Temperate Zone: Cradled in the heights of the Neath’s atriums and sat below the roof is the temperate zones; the rising heat of the zone below begins to cool and by doing so, distinct weather patterns form within this zone, leaving it, while still sweltering, a cooler though much more humid climate.

The main biome are the luminescent warped-fungal rainforests that collect the high-rising minerals and odd moisture from the lakes. Liquid is actually present here, though, if it’s not safely filtered through the innards of the various plants and fungi, this water is usually aggressively corrosive, and it is best to shelter from the acidic precipitation to avoid chemical burns. The nether folk and ender local to these rainforests are suited to deal with these conditions and the ender especially do not have trouble with the extreme pH of the water here like they would in the overworld. The zone is lit almost exclusively by the biolumincense of the organisms there and have often been described as false-stars.

In the Deep Nether, the ceiling may give way, allowing one to pass onto the plateaus of the Nether Roof and the yawning void above. The bedrock of the nether roof is jagged and layered in huge slabs, sometimes broken up my mazes of pillar-like structures and shallow, thermal pools of crystal-clear liquid. The kind you don't want to touch of course. fogs may hang low to the ground, but when its clear, or above the fog, the entire universe seems to spill out into the sky. The nether roof was culturally significant and a source of much knowledge and inspiration in the early days, but I'll get more into that in a later post 0.0

The Rime Zone: Plunge deep enough and one might find themselves bellow the lava beds. Here, where the heat can't quite penetrate, the temperatures will drop rapidly to sub-zero.

Namely, the Rime Zone is made up of the soul valleys, flat steppes of cinder and clotted sand, you can imagine it almost with the blindness effect, a fog that pools by your feet, and a heavier darkness hanging from the sky, it feels massive and endless and claustrophobic all at once. Frost collects as crystals on the irradiated, soul-soaked barrens, and the bones of the massive nether wyrms lie fossilized, breaking up the landscape. The sands are also split with patches of crazing on the ground and vents of blue fire that spills out and sets the sand ablaze.

These same wryms can be found sometimes, ancient things that dig through sand and soft rocks and the magma lakes, far and few between and treated with both fear and reverence.

And in the deepest pits of the Neath are the glowing frozen lakes that are colloquially and rightfully called the Gates to Death, glowing blue from beneath their surfaces. Indeed, any further down and you pass into limbo, the edge of Death's Realms.

Extra Notes??:

Soul sand/soil is tread on carefully or not at all, is one form of remnants from the apocolyspe. Like the general radiated rubble present through the Nether, it's a fault of nuclear fallout. Unlike other areas of radiation, its also been infused with the souls of those who didn't survive the joining of worlds. That said, unlike soul sand, soul soil is used productively to grow certain nether crops. It’s minerally and magically dense.

This infused quality is also precent in Nether Debris, resulting in a material that takes magic particularly well.

Iron cannot be found in dense veins and crystals like gold or quartz in the nether, but it's a pretty rich mineral a lot of netherack, giving it its ruddy coloring.

Sorry for this massive rant that no one asked for. If you have questions please feel free to send an ask, I may not have an answer yet but I'll certainly come up with one if I can.

I'm also hoping to do a pass on my headcanons about history and culture in the Nether and then we might start talking about character headcanons since this is also an actual AU.

If you read this far, here's some notes on striders and ghast

[gokyrts]

Patrón!Carlos | C.S. 55

18+ | warnings: mentions of drugs, cartel politics, mentions of kidnapping, d/s dynamics, finger sucking, dom!carlos, unprotected p in v, spanking, oral (m receiving), slight degradation and humiliation, light ass play, dirty talk

Summary: you needed a favour, a favour only the leader of the local drug cartel could grant you, so you went to beg for it and you bit more than you could chew

Author’s note: MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM YOURS TRULY!! This is a gift for all my lovely supporters. if you’ve liked Mafia AU, you’re definitely gonna like this 🤭 welcome to Narcos AU with Carlos Sainz !

wc: 4.3k

Check out part two here and part three here !

In case you’re unfamiliar with the plot and terms of Narcos, here’s a little vocabulary with terms that are used throughout the story:

el patrón — (noun) boss of a drug cartel

sicarios — (noun, pl.) high ranking members of a cartel, armed, usually on motorcycles

DEA — (noun) drug enforcement administration; U.S. federal office tasked with combatting drug trafficking

The air outside the compound was still, heavy with the heat of late afternoon. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of laughter echoed, mingling with the crackle of a lit cigar. You sat alone, staring at the rim of your glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. The burn of it no longer registered—it had stopped doing that weeks ago. You hated this place. Hated the velvet couches, the chandeliers, the lingering stench of power and fear. But it had become your world.

Your sister was safe. That was what mattered. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Still, the memory of the first step you’d taken into this life clung to you like smoke, no matter how many times you tried to shove it away. And, as always, it returned unbidden:

The air was just as oppressive that day, tightening around your throat, pressing against your chest. But not nearly as oppressive as the gazes and words of the sicarios you encountered when you came to beg for a favor. Their eyes on you like you were a piece of meat delivered to their door.

“Move along, sweetheart,” one of them said, making your stomach churn.

“I need to speak with señor Sainz.” your assertiveness was a joke to them, seeing nothing more than a defenseless animal.

“Did you hear that?” he’d said, turning to the other guard with exaggerated mockery. “Little mama here wants to speak to el patrón.”

Their laughter had stung, but you’d swallowed your pride. This wasn’t about you. It was about your sister. It was about survival.

“Please,” you’d whispered, your voice cracking just enough to reveal the desperation in your chest. “It’s important.”

The sicarios had exchanged amused glances before one stepped forward, his expression darkening with a hint of suspicion. “Es importante, ah?” he’d asked, the firearm in his hands a reminder of who had control. “How so?”

Your fists had tightened, your body screaming to run, but you had stood your ground. “I need his help. My… my sister has been kidnapped.”

The two men exchanged a glance, this one colder, heavier. Without another word, they had stepped aside, opening the door to the building with a mockingly polite gesture. “Muy bien, let’s see what the boss has to say to this… little request.”

They had flanked you as you walked down the dim corridor, the echo of their heavy boots swallowing your lighter steps. The long hallway felt like a gauntlet, and each step seemed to draw you further into a cage you wouldn’t be able to escape. They led you to an unassuming door, another guard stationed outside. A brief knock sounded, a whisper you hadn’t caught, and then you were ushered inside.

Carlos Sainz’s office had been every bit as ostentatious as you’d imagined. The room reeked of wealth: leather chairs, imported bourbon, and a portrait of the man himself staring down from the wall. But none of it had held your attention for long. Your gaze had locked onto Carlos the moment you saw him.

He’d been seated behind his desk, looking as though he owned not just the room but the air you were breathing. His expression had been unreadable, save for the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Before you could speak, one of the guards shoved you forward. “I’m not armed!” you’d snapped, your voice sharp with indignation.

The guard’s rough hands searched you anyway, brushing over your clothes with no effort to hide his smugness. Carlos, meanwhile, had leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, watching the scene like it was some form of theater staged for his amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he’d said, his smirk widening as his gaze swept over you. “You seem to have a sharp tongue on you, señorita.”

You’d forced yourself to endure and once the guard was satisfied, you had been given the space to speak.

“I—I need your help, señor. They… they took my little sister. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

He hadn’t reacted at first. Instead, he’d reached for a glass, pouring himself a measure of whiskey with deliberate slowness. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass filled the room like a mocking echo.

“You came to ask for a favor?” he’d said finally, his tone light, as though you were discussing the weather. He hadn’t given you a chance to respond. “I remember you owing a favor to me, little one.”

Your throat had tightened. Of course, he remembered. A debt passed down from your father, inherited like a curse. You’d known the weight of it would crush you someday. You just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

“Sí, señor,” you’d said, voice cracking, fighting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. “I still owe you. But I need this, please. She was taken by men from the other side. I-I don’t want them to hurt her or worse…”

Carlos had tilted his head, studying you as though you were some strange creature that had wandered into his den.

“So… you expect me to solve more of your family’s problems, sí?” His words were light, almost teasing, but the sharp edge in his gaze had made your stomach twist.

Your knees had felt weak, but you’d pressed on. “Please,” you’d said again, the word tasting like ash on your tongue. “I—I will do anything.”

At that, his amusement had deepened. The room had gone still.

“Anything…?” he’d repeated, his voice dropping just enough to make you shiver. One of the guards had snickered, but Carlos had silenced him with a click of his tongue. Then he’d mentioned for the guards to exit, leaving only the two of you in the room.

With deliberate slowness, he’d risen from his chair, rounding the desk until he stood in front of you. He’d been taller than you remembered, his presence overwhelming.

“Do you know what that word means, little one?” he’d asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what it costs to ask me for a favor?”

You’d lowered your gaze, the weight of his stare crushing you.

“I… I will pay the price,” you’d whispered.

Carlos had tilted his head, lifting your chin upward with surprising gentleness, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Careful,” he’d murmured, his tone soft but laced with warning. “There are men who would take this as an invitation...”

You’d stiffened, your skin crawling under his touch.

“But I’m not one of them…not today.” he’d stepped back with a smirk, allowing you to breathe again.

“Muy bien,” he’d said, returning to his desk. “I’ll deal with these men and bring your sister back. But… from this moment on, you’re mine. Your time, your life. When I call, you answer. No questions. No hesitation. Understood?”

You’d hesitated, just for a moment, but Carlos didn’t let you. His voice had turned sharp, cutting through your resistance like a blade.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” you’d said, voice shaking. “Yes… I understand.”

He’d smirked, satisfied. “Good. Go home, little one. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

…

You closed your eyes as the memory finished replaying, pressing the glass back to your lips, its contents dwindling fast. Anticipation brewed in your gut mingling with the expensive imported whiskey. He has called again and you answered, per agreement.

Over time you learned to ignore the hungry stares from his wolves, their sleazy whispers, and dirty hands adjusting their pants when you passed them in the halls of the safehouse. It made you sick. But this was part of the price you had to pay. The price you agreed to pay for the safety of your sister’s life, and the doom of your own.

“Princesita,”

Your eyes snapped open at his voice — smooth, silky, like the liquor you just downed. The familiar burning sensation returned, your body starting to smolder again. You swallowed the bitterness and turned on your hell, the dress you were told to wear flowing around your form.

Carlos regarded you with a long gaze, from the shoes you picked to wear, across your hips and waist, where the dress tightly hugged your soft curves, to your face, lingering on your painted lips.

He nodded in approval, beckoning you closer with a finger.

Teaching you obedience was his favorite, along with making you regret every life decision you ever made, but especially the deal you made with him.

His thumb found your bottom lip as you stepped closer, the red on your lips pulling him in like a bull following its toreador. The rough surface of his finger swiped over the carefully applied lipstick, smudging it and dragging it down your chin. A flicker of amusement appeared in his eyes at your ruined look, his favorite look on you. His thumb slid off your chin, leaving a light red stain.

Beautiful, he thought, before retracting his hand only to notice the smudge on his finger.

He pressed the thumb back against your mouth.

“Clean it.”

And your body burned, the whiskey in your gut the fuse and his command the spark. The finger was thrust into your mouth with zero patience, the taste of ash and metal hitting your tongue along the unmistakable sweetness of your cherry red lipstick. As much as the taste made you retch, it was addicting.

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

Your tongue wrapped around the digit, swirling to catch the pad of his thumb and sucking it clean. Carlos rewarded you with a hum of approval, pressing down harder on your tongue, forcing your mouth to open up further.

Your jaw gave way, letting Carlos in on the sight of his saliva-covered thumb in your mouth, your tongue playing around with it. He pulled back, dragging his finger out of your mouth but not without wiping it slightly against your lip, enhancing the redness of it with a top coat.

“Good girl… good ruined girl.”

Heat pooled between your legs, forcing an involuntary hum from your throat. Weeks ago you would resist, deny, and deflect — you didn’t want him to notice, because he noticed everything — but his praise was like a switch flipped in your brain.

However, as fast as he praised, he also did the exact opposite.

“Go clean your face, I’m not letting you accompany me looking like that.” he spat, stepping aside so you could go wipe the mess he made on your face. The oval mirror in his office was nearly as familiar as the face you saw in it. The flashbacks were instant when you looked into it, images of him, of you, in positions he forced you into. Carlos liked making you watch, it etched itself in your memory better, he said.

You squeezed your thighs together as you wiped the ruined lipstick off of your chin, similar redness blooming on your cheeks. Carlos smirked knowingly, standing a few feet behind you. He could be in the background, not even touching you but your body was aflame for him, your mind playing tricks on you, triggers he put in your head setting off. You reapplied the lipstick, the phantom feeling of his finger on them almost making you miss the intimacy.

There was a knock on the door, signaling your ride was there. Armed guards escorted you to an awaiting car. A small convoy left the compound to ensure the patrón’s safety. A meeting with the other Narcos wasn’t something to underestimate. Light chatter took part in the car you were not part of. They didn’t need your opinion. You were there as a pretty face, nothing more, nothing less.

As you approached the hotel where the meeting would be held, the oppressive air started clawing at your lungs again. The delicate power balance you felt in the atmosphere was unnerving, ready to tip over in any direction. You and Carlos were patted down before entering. It was agreed that this meeting would be weapon-free. If anything was to go down, you’d be fighting with your bare hands.

The hotel was grand, smelling of the same filthy richness that Carlos’ office did. Your presence caught eyes. A woman, a pretty woman, here? Just as you learned to ignore the stares and comments of Carlos’ sicarios*, you avoided those of the other men, asking if you were lost or looking for a good time. The tension only heightened as you neared the entered the conference room and Carlos felt the need to remind you of your place. He caught you by the elbow, pulling you back against him, his lips against your ear. “You’re here to keep me company, not to speak. Understood?”

Your breath hitched, his voice, so close, sent shivers down your back. “Sí, señor.”

Carlos was satisfied enough with your response and let you go, stepping around you and opening the door. Your smaller form was hidden behind Carlos’ broad back as you entered, the other Narcos only catching sight of you as you walked along the enormous glass table.

Without looking up, you uttered a quiet ‘Buenos dias, señores.’ That was the only time you were allowed to speak.

Behind the clouds of smoke from cigars and cigarettes, the Narcos recognized a woman. They exchanged glances, whispers, scoffs but nothing you wouldn’t be used to already. Despite their visible disapproval, no one dared speak up.

Carlos sat at the head of the table, as he was the organizer of the meeting, leaving you a small seat behind him, just to further emphasize you were not part of the negotiations.

The meeting started but not much has reached your ears throughout, selectively more than not. The Narcos discussed new routes, skirmishes with the DEA, feuds over territory, nothing you could be a part of anyway.

You were picking on your nails when one of the older gentlemen mentioned the neighborhood you grew up in.

“…a possible lab location, routes go out here and through this way,”

His fat finger was pointing to a map, showing what in his mind was a new business idea the others would approve of. For a moment you were taken into your childhood home, playing with your sister on the front porch. It was nice, safe but you always saw men linger around, men who had DEA badges on their belts. Still thinking you were in your mind, you murmured. “Yeah, right into the DEA’s hands…”

Silence.

Feeling a full body chill, you looked up, slowly, each tilt of your head further revealed more shocked and angry expressions of the Narcos.

The man whose idea you challenged leaned back and looked at Carlos in disbelief.

“Carlos, who is this? Did you bring a secretary? Are you into females advising you now?”

Your heart nearly stopped, eyes widening as the weight of your little comment hit you.

“Why did you bring a woman into the meeting anyway? Now she’s thinking she’s one of us.” Another man sneered as all gazes turned to Carlos to watch his reaction.

Whatever he was thinking, one could not tell. His eyes flit briefly to you and then back, but you did notice his jaw clenching, a subtle show of his anger. But he masked it well, leaning back in his seat.

“She’s not one of us, but she’s right. Think about it.”

Carlos’ response had the Narcos stunned a second time that night. They turned to one another, murmuring amongst themselves, considering the situation. But no one was stunned more than you. He saved you…he acknowledged your opinion, among those he trusted the least but had to respect the most and vice versa.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly on alert and aware of what was being discussed. With bated breath, you watch the meeting conclude and the drug lords pour out of the conference room. Some regarded you with disgust, others with interest, some with caution but you would be in the meeting minutes of everyone who attended.

When the last of the traffickers left, the atmosphere of the room shifted. Carlos was quiet, too quiet for your liking. His fingers drummed against the glass table, the echo loud in the empty room. His head tilted to the side and you saw his jaw lock in place before he spoke.

“Are you the expert on routes now?” His tone was calm and cold, the kind that makes you want to huddle for warmth. It wasn’t a question for you to answer. A loud warning despite the pitch in his voice, but you knew this was more dangerous than if he’d yelled. “What did I tell you about speaking up?” his words had bite now.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I was just— you said I was right though! I grew up in that neighborhood! If you let them set up a lab there, the DEA would be onto them and you’d be the one cleaning up the mess.”

“Oh? You think you saved me?” he chuckled but there was no humor in it. “Do not think this is how you repay favors, little princess.”

You averted his gaze, the taste of forced submission bitter on your tongue. Your palms were sweating again and you had to wipe them on your dress this time. Carlos watched you, the intensity in his eyes threatening to light the fire inside you again and he knew.

The sound of the snapping of his fingers was loud in the room, making you look up at him again.

“Come here.”

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

You got up on shaky legs, taking a few short strides to Carlos’ side. Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip in anticipation, catching the cherry red lipstick he had given you a taste of before.

“Over the table, princesa…”

The glass table felt cold over your thighs and stomach, the dress you wore riding up as you bent over in front of him. You heard him sigh, the sound filling you with more delicious uncertainty. You felt his large hand on the back of your thigh, the rough callouses contrasting against the gentle caresses he gave you.

“This room was full of men who would shoot you for even looking at them wrong…” He spoke with softness that made you almost comfortable against the table like this was a fatherly scolding. Except it was.

Smack.

His palm landed against the back of your thigh, forcing air out of your lungs.

“And you thought you could just come in and play queen?” Carlos continued, his voice dropping an octave as he pulled your dress up, revealing your bare ass.

Smack.

The handprint on your ass cheek stung, its red outline hot to the touch as he rubbed his fingers over it. You cried out as he delivered the next smack to your other cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut with the force he used, an involuntary moan slipping from your lips. He fisted his other hand in your hair, pulling your head back. His lips were against your ear again.

“I have every right to throw you to them… to let them devour you till there’s nothing but bones… but,” he trailed off, a strange occurrence, stretching the moment and breathing fire to your insides.

“You’re mine.”

Your head landed against the glass table as he let go of your hair, the thud making you groan. His hands trailed back down, catching against the waistband of your underwear and pulling it down. You gasped as the cold air hit your soaked pussy, the undergarment landing around your ankles. Carlos grabbed at your ass cheek, squeezing and spreading you to him.

“Ah… I’m beginning to think you like this, princesa.” His tone was mocking as his index finger slid through the wetness making your hips jerk. Your neediness amused him, almost as much as your fear.

The clinking sound of his belt undoing only made you squeeze your thighs together, searching for friction despite how wrong it felt. But the smoldering need in your gut was stronger than your moral code. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming him. You could hear a faint chuckle behind you, your willingness nothing short of amusement to Carlos.

He nudged the tip of his cock against your slit, coating himself in the slickness he was the cause of. Just like all those times before, Carlos didn’t wait, he took what he wanted. Always.

The first thrust pushed you hard against the glass table and stole air from your lungs. You never got used to his size, the stretch always stung a little, the force of his thrusts always left your hips aching the next day and you knew you’d be feeling the same later.

He hissed, forcing himself to the hilt before pulling back and in again, setting a steady pace. His large hands gripped your hips, keeping you pinned between him and the table. You knew there would be bruises, bruises you’d hide, bruises he’d expose. Regrets you’d have to face one way or another.

Carlos pressed one hand against the small of your back, making you arch, your ass pushing back against his hips.

“That’s it…that’s it,” he murmured, looking down, your ass bouncing off his hips a mesmerizing sight. As your cheeks spread further apart, his eyes fell to your tight hole, and Carlos felt an itch he could not help but scratch. His hand slid down, his thumb pressing against it, feeling you clench around him.

He growled, pressing a little harder, testing your reaction. When you whined and clenched again, he knew he found a sweet spot.

“Fuck, you like it, princesa? You like when I play with your tight little ass?”

Your insides were molten, your resolve and pride burned to a crisp. Even your unspoken protests evaporated right on your tongue from the heat. “Yes…fuck, yes!” you panted out, feeling the knot in your stomach coil.

Carlos grinned, his thumb staying where it was, relishing in your walls fluttering even tighter around him, pushing him closer to the edge. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

“Such a dirty little thing… you want it? Tell me you want it, princesa.” You knew he was getting close when his mouth spewed the filthiest words, looking to get off on your reactions.

Your tongue nearly lolled out of your mouth, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. You knew what he wanted to hear and you gave in.

“Please,”

Carlos bit his lip, groaning as you begged for him, the act alone making his cock twitch. “Again, let me hear you.” You felt his chest press against your back, pushing you impossibly closer to the table to the point you thought it would break.

“P-Please…” your voice was louder this time, enough to the man above you. He grunted in satisfaction, his pace faltering before he spilled himself inside you. His hips stilled, but the weight of him continued to bruise your smaller body.

Carlos took a moment before he pulled out, panting, the grip on your hip easing. Your knees bucked slightly with exhaustion and Carlos, thinking himself merciful, grabbed at your elbow, pulling you up. You looked up at him but the sight of the cunning smile on his face told you that this was far from over. He yanked you in his direction and you ungracefully landed on your knees, the impact making you whine. Carlos snorted with laughter, adoring the sight of your pathetic self beneath him. He stepped closer to you and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, instead, you were met with the sight of his still-hard cock, now glistening with your mixed juices.

“Clean it…” His bottom lip twitched slightly, along with his eyebrow, taunting you as he breathed deeply. He pushed your limits, used you to his heart’s content, all because he could. Each little request a test to see if you’d break and disobey. But the moment your lips wrapped around him, his hands were back in your hair.

“Fuck— good girl,” the overstimulation made him groan, tightening his hold on your hair. You licked at him obediently, the taste salty on your tongue. He revered in the skill of your mouth, praising it as you worked. Every gag made him coo in a mocking tone and when you pulled off, he didn’t hesitate to take the reins. He took hold of his cock, his other hand in your hair, and dragged it over your cheek, across your face, a sick grin spreading across his lips as he watched you squeeze your eyes tightly so none of the mess would get there. He knew the smell would cling to your sweet skin, that was why he did it. He pulled back to look at his work.

The sight of your makeup ruined, cheeks stained, now with the added smell of him on you. Perfect. Carlos grinned, moving to tuck himself back in his suit pants.

“Now, that’s a pretty slut. Come on, let’s go…”

…

want more patrón!Carlos? lemme know in my askbox!! I plan on writing more for this AU and would love to know your thoughts on it<3

2024 @ gokyrts . Do not distribute or translate my work on other sites.

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀 ˊˎ - ☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Sol's been living in my head rent free so here's a lil brain rot I had about him. Also if you haven't played his source game but like yandere things, I 100% recommend you try it out (there's a free version!) and consider supporting the creator! 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Sol Brugmansia x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 0.9k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MDNI, NSFW content, source media rated 18+, implied somnophilia (dubcon), yandere-typical themes

Hypnopompia:

Noun, Psychology

The semiconscious state prior to complete wakefulness.

Your breath comes out in heated puffs as your head tips to the side, cheek warm against the soft pillow beneath you. There’s yet another pillow propped under your hips too that you’re being pushed into each time Sol’s hips smack needily into yours. 

His dark, green-streaked hair tickles against your cheek and shoulder as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling at your skin and then soothing it with kisses and little licks. He’s hunched over you, completely engulfing your frame with his much larger one, like he wants to block out the rest of the world so that only he can exist to you and you to him. 

“You’re so warm…” He breathes out, an edge of a whine in his voice. He’s leaning up with one of his elbows beside you, the other hand roaming the curve of your hip and waist, anchoring you in place. He leans up a little to look down at you beneath him. His fiery eyes are lidded, a blush blooming across his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you with your hair splayed around your head like a halo and he truly feels he’s found heaven tangled up in the sheets with you like this. “And so soft…”

He cups his hand beneath your knee and pushes it outwards to spread you wider for him. His breath catches and he lets out a moan at the sight of his cock splitting your sweet pussy open, a ring of your cream having formed at the base as he sinks into you again, and again, and again. If not for his body’s physical limits, he’s sure he’d spend an eternity doing this with you, his soulmate. 

His hand gently drags over your tummy, black-painted nails faintly tickling you and then pausing to press on your abdomen for a few strokes, watching how it makes you moan in pleasure, your lashes fluttering hypnotically under his enamoured gaze. His hand resumes its journey downwards until it reaches its desired destination, rubbing sticky hearts against your puffy clit, smearing your slick over the sensitive pearl. Your hips buck into his and it causes a moan to tumble past his lips. You’re so warm and soft everywhere and he feels blessed to be able to have you in his arms, wrapped around him, like this. 

He’s not sure if he could ever bring himself to admit it to you but he’s scrolled through different forums to find the perfect tips on how to bring you to bliss like this, what women like. But you look like a damn deity as you whimper and moan beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his. You’re the blood in his veins, the air in his lungs, and he can’t live without you, without his soul. 

He adds a little more pressure with his thumb on your clit, leaning back on his calves so that he has a free hand to grab your hip, angling them so that the head of his cock can drag against your spongy sweet spot with each thrust. He may be inexperienced but he’s a very attentive lover. Each positive reaction from you spurs him on and a part of him is sure he’s actually getting more pleasure from making you feel good than the actual physical sensations you’re giving him. 

Your spine arches up sweetly at the liquid electricity that’s sluicing through your veins at all of his attentive touches. He leans over you again, his tempo faltering a little as he gets quicker, firmer, a whimper leaving his lips before they wrap around your earlobe and bite gently. 

“Are you close…?” He asks breathlessly as your thighs squeeze his hips and tremble. You let out a needy moan and nod your head, looping your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his long hair, tugging and you search for a means to ground yourself while your head begins to swim with a foggy pleasure. “Come for me, pumpkin… Let it all go.” There’s a pleading tone laced into his voice and he pulls you closer as the two of you begin tumbling towards your end. Sol whimpers at feeling how you tighten around him, like begging him to cum with you. He hooks an arm under the arch of your spine to cradle you to his chest, feeling your pert nipples rub against him, the softness of your breasts too. 

“Sol… Sol…” His name spills past your lips in whimpers, his name still on your tongue when you open your eyes and you’re alone in your dim room. Illumination creeps in from the streetlamp near your flat’s window. Your heart is fluttering erratically in your chest and you’re sweating despite the room being cold where the broken lock on your window has caused the wind to blow it open ajar again. 

You sit up groggily, cheeks still warm from the memory of the intimate dream you had of your friend. You curse at your sticky panties and feel that your wetness has made its way to your inner thighs too where you’ve only been sleeping in an oversized t-shirt and panties. 

You curse Hyugo for putting these sorts of ideas in your head, always dropping teasing little comments about you and Sol getting together. You shake your head to try and rid yourself of the dream as you get up to properly close your window, oblivious to the fiery coloured eyes watching you from the shadows down on the street. 

☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ comms. ∘ taglist ∘ follow/reblog

🏷️Sol now added to taglist!

[drewizz]

THIRD TIME - 01. exordium

pairing ꕀ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS. mentions of sex & alcohol consumption + start of slowburn starts now.

WC. 1.3K

TAGLIST. open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. next

exordium. (noun) the beginning of anything.

The bass wasn’t just loud, it was practically raging. The smell of cheap tasting alcohol and sex was thickening inside the entire house. You had no clue to why you were even here at the party, mingling alone in the corner wrinkling your nose in distaste – busy avoiding the drunk sods who were looking for nothing but a quick fuck.

The house itself didn’t help. Built in a way that it seemed to be making you feel so small and invisible, decorated with furniture that was screaming for attention. The entire house was littered with people. All the rooms were full, the basement, in the pool, on the balcony, there was little to no space anywhere. 

Unfortunately, you would be stuck here for a while.

You tugged at the strap of your dress again, the fabric just about physically digging into your shoulders. Your best friend had convinced you to wear it, the fabric clinging on to your body for dear life, dipped low enough to make you self-conscious every time someone looked your way. “You’ll thank me later,” your friend said, grinning as she handed it over. 

You sure thanked her. At this point, compared to all the people walking around in the tiniest clothing possible, you felt overdressed. Everything around you and on you felt so overstimulating, constantly jabbing at your body.

The drink in your hand wasn’t helping. It was some awful mix of cheap vodka and cranberry juice, and it tasted like absolute vomit. But at least it gave you something to hold onto, a prop that made you feel less exposed.

Your friend had vanished hours ago, swept away by a guy with a pearly white grin and a trust fund. “Five minute tops,” is what she promised to come back in. But that had been at least an hour ago, maybe two.

You sighed, leaning against the wall and looking around the room. Everywhere you looked there were groups of people laughing, dancing, freakishly grinding on the couches like they owned the place. 

You weren't sure why you had agreed to come. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was boredom. But at this point, all you felt like was suffocation.

You ducked into the kitchen, desperate for a moment of quiet. It was just as luxurious as the rest of the house – sleek counters with a gigantic beverage cooler so big it fit rows of liquor bottles lined up.

Your eyes landed on a bottle of whiskey near the edge of the counter. It looked expensive, the one that looked like it could cost a lifetime. You weren't a whiskey drinker, but compared to the questionable cocktail and watered-down beer in the other room, it seemed like the better option.

You poured yourself a small splash, wincing as the liquid burned its way down your throat. It was smoother than you'd expected, but still strong enough to make you grimace.

You were just starting to warm to it when a voice cut through your thoughts.

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing right now?”

You jumped at the sharp tone, spinning around to see who it was.

And there was Rafe Cameron, head cocked to the side in a manner of questioning.

You recognized him immediately. Everyone knew who Rafe Cameron was. His reputation preceded him – all sharp edges and simmering anger. Up close, he was even more striking than the whispers suggested. His jawline was sharp as if it was carved from stone, his hair was currently tousled falling just barely on his forehead – but hidden under a cap. Overall, his presence was just absolutely jarring and overwhelming.

Rafe, it seems, did not look impressed.

Catching yourself amidst stare, you snapped back harsher than intended. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s my bottle,” he said, nodding towards the bottle of whiskey in your hand.

You blinked. “Your bottle?”

“Yeah,” he pressed. “I brought it. And I don’t remember saying you could just help yourself.”

Was Rafe fucking Cameron seriously picking a fight over a sip of whiskey at a party, where people were practically bathing in alcohol that were stolen?

“It was sitting with the rest of the drinks,” you said slowly, trying to keep your tone calm. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. And I needed to relieve some tension, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, it is a big deal and I do mind,” he said coldly, his eyes narrowing.

Your patience snapped. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, dripped with sarcasm. “Was I supposed to fill out a permission form? Do I need to ask for your permission to take a swig?”

Clearly Rafe was getting ticked off as his jaw was tightening. “It’s called common courtesy. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

You let out a short laugh, dry and humorless. “Right. Because this is clearly a party full of people who care about manners and shit.”

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. “You don’t even know me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“And I’m starting to think I don’t want to,” you shot back.

For a moment, something flickered in his expression, something you couldn’t quite place. Annoyance, maybe. Or curiosity.

“Who even invited you? Did you just stroll into the party with no friends thinking that bottles of alcohol would help you make some?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I came with a friend. You know, like normal people do.”

Rafe scoffed. “Normal? You don’t exactly scream ‘normal’ if that’s what you really think.”

Your grip on the bottle tightened. “And you think ‘nice guy’ seems to fit your persona?”

“No, because trust me, I’m not.” His mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smirk. 

The air between them was thickening – too fast for your liking. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the bass was extremely deafening as you felt it vibrate off the floor. Everything was tightening up on you, and you were on the verge of puking all over Rafe’s shoes.

“Look,” you finally said, voice firm. “I didn’t know the whiskey was yours. If it’s that big of a deal, I’ll find a new one at the store and buy it for you.”

His eyebrow shot up, his skepticism practically radiating off him. “You think you can just swing by the store and pick up a bottle like that?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Sure you will.”

The condescension in his voice made your stomach churn. You opened your mouth to fire back, but before you could, someone called his name from the other room.

“Rafe! Come on, man!”

He didn’t look away immediately. His gaze lingered, as if he was trying to decide whether you were worth more of his time. Finally, he took a step back as his lips were curving into a smirk that made your blood boil.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, his tone mocking. “This isn’t a type of place for pretty girls like you.”

Snatching the whiskey out of your hand, he was gone as if nothing had happened.

“Fucking dick,” you mumbled. You were starting to feel a migraine ease its way into your head with the ongoing commotions of people yelling and the music.

Minutes were quickly strolling past, and you were itching to leave - so you ended up sending a text to your friend who was long lost somewhere in the house.

not feeling good, im gonna head out. get home safe x

Making your way out of the house (avoiding all the touchy drunks), you sighed. Fresh air. This is where you felt most free.

This isn’t a type of place for pretty girls like you.

For pretty girls like you.

Pretty girls like you.

Rafe Cameron had labelled you as a pretty girl. And it just had to fly over your head. 

With a groan, you took a last glance back at the house, and there you saw him. Standing near the doorway, leaning with the bottle of whiskey they were arguing over a bit ago. With a quick subtle smirk, he was gone.

Who would’ve thought that you two would meet again. Approximately, the next day.

NOTE. first chapter is now complete woohooo !!! i'm verygiddy rn i wanna hear how you guys feel about this chapter and js everything overall.. i have second chapter coming soooooon. xx isa

TAGS. @urbrunettebombshell

[atxxokirina]

Seven Deadly Sins.

Gluttony.

noun • habitual greed or excess in eating

Lo'ak x Fem Na'vi Reader | 18+, MDNI

Banner credit ♡

Contains: SMUTTY SMUT, pussy eating and fingering, dom Lo'ak, denial and edging, squirting, very VERY slight mention of somnophilia at the end, i think that's everything .

Author's note / plot: I decided to do a series based off of the Seven deadly sins, which are pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. I have plans for multiple fics including each sin, and each one will consist of different Avatar characters. <3 hopefully you all love this idea as much as I do!

It was no secret that Lo'ak loved eating pussy— yours, of course. He worshipped it. Obsessed with your tangy slick, the way it pulsated around his fingers and tongue, and your perfect little clit.

Lo'ak squeezes the plush of your thighs, holding them open as you struggle to stay still. "Stop moving mama, let me finish eating this cute pussy." He mumbles on your cunt, half of his tongue meeting with your spongey walls as he suctioned your clit. "I-I'm trying..!" You gasp, followed by a moan. He's been at this for Eywa knows how long. You feel so you numb and sensitive. "Lo'ak, please.. I-I can't cum again." You whined. Trying to scoot your hips back, but to no avail. He simply growls, sending vibrations to your cunt which just made your hips fall back. "I'm not done with my meal yet, mama." He teases in a low tone, smacking your mound, resulting in a high pitched whimper. "Stop.." You breathe out, fighting back another orgasm. Lo'ak scoffs, repositioning himself. He scissors your folds open with two digits, kitten licking the puddle of wetness that spread onto your thighs.

"You know.." He starts, teasing your entrance with his fingers. "I thought I told you about telling me what to do," you hum, followed by a whimper. Looking down, you see a dark look in his eyes. Darker than usual. "L-Lo'ak, what are you doing.." He ignores you. "..because, I'm in charge here, and not you, yeah?" He emphasizes the last word with a huff, plunging his long fingers into you, curling them up and reaching your sweet spot. Your eyes shut themselves closed. Breath shuddering while needy moans fall from your mouth. "Mmmm!" You squeal, tears began to form in your eyes as his digits pounded you nonstop. "I'm- cumming! I'm gonna cum, oh shit.." You feel your heartbeat pattern change drastically as your lower core tightens. "Yeah mama, squirt in my fucking mouth. Let go for daddy." He quickens his pace, jamming his digits into your sweet spot even more as he makes out with the rest of your cunt.

Your body lets go. Thighs shaking as the clear liquid spews out of your pussy, eyes rolling back while you grip Lo'ak's head. Pushing him down. He catches your squirt in his mouth, swallowing without hesitation. "Fuuck," Lo'ak groans as he slurps the residue off, listening to your moans die down as you pant. He lets your thighs go, climbing on top of you. "Wake up." He grumbles, cuppping your cheek, moving your face from either side. "I don't care if you're passed out, mama. I'm still gonna eat." Was the last thing you heard before he went back down..

taglist: @pandorxxx @sweethoneycn @neytirishottie @sullybrosimp @tsireyafavgirl @teyamsbitch @encephalitis-on-sundays @sassypain @neon-groves @rosyj @hidingfrommanda @whore-for-hawks

[dedalvs]

Lexember (December 10th)

Okay, so this glyph is elilla "honey", and I guess I'll have to talk about this. There's this joke on The Simpsons where Homer is writing up invitations to his barbecue. They look like this:

The image is an outline of a pig, and the text is "Come to Homer's BBBQ. The extra B is for BYOBB." Lisa reads this aloud then asks homer, "What's that extra B for?" Homer's response: "That was a typo."

Back to Valyrian, elilla derives from the word for "bee" ēs. Ēs is irregular, as its stem is actually el-, so, for example, the plural of ēs "bee" is elossa "'bees". This is a common enough phenomenon in High Valyrian. Essentially, you had a stage where it was *els in the nominative singular, and the cluster simplified, resulting in a long vowel. (If anything, it's odd that "bee" is ēs rather than ēz, but we'll set the aside for the moment.) Elilla is a kind of derivation of ēs. The stem el- is extended, giving us elilla. Why -illa? No reason. It's a kind of reduplication. That extension, though, was reanalyzed as a suffix, and that suffix became rather productive, resulting in resultatives ending in -illa, hence hūra "moon" and hūrilla "moonlight".

Now, the trick here is all these words are aquatic. Aquatic words usually end in -r and have their own declension patterns. This one ends in -a. Fair enough. You might expect, though, that if it was aquatic, it would follow the declension patternj of aquatic nouns. But no. It doesn't. These -illa words end in -a, like class I lunar nouns, and they also decline like class I lunar nouns. The only thing that tells you they're aquatic is they trigger aquatic agreement.

Okay, so why are these -illa nouns aquatic? Because elilla is aquatic.

But why is elilla aquatic?

Truthfully, elilla is aquatic because it represents honey, which is classified as a liquid. That's the only reason it's aquatic. I also thought there would be a number of these nouns that looked like one class but triggered the agreement of another class.

But then I didn't add more.

So it's just these. It's the noun elilla and every other noun ending in -illa that looks like one gender/declension class but declines like a different one.

Twelve years on, I don't hate it, exactly, but I also hate it. And we're stuck with it.

Anyway, happy Community Christmas!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Few Food-related Words

for when your character is cooking or maybe eating at a fancy restaurant

Béchamel - a rich white sauce. This thick white sauce was invented by, and thus named after, Louis de Béchamel, a French courtier who served in the court of Louis XIV.

Bordelaise - a sauce consisting of stock thickened with roux and flavored typically with red wine and shallots. The etymology of bordelaise is tastefully simple: bordelaise is the feminine form of the adjective bordelais, meaning "of Bordeaux" (a region in France famous for its wines).

Braise - to cook slowly in fat and a small amount of liquid in a closed pot. The verb braise is from French braiser and braise, both of which signal that the coals are hot. The likely ignitors of the French words are Germanic kindling along with the Swedish brasa, meaning "fire."

Flam​bé - (adjective): dressed or served covered with flaming liquor (such as brandy, rum, or cognac). (verb): to douse with a liquor (such as brandy, rum, or cognac) and ignite. Flambé is the past participle of French flamber, meaning "to flame or singe," which is derived from the Old French noun flambe, meaning "flame."

Roux - a cooked mixture of flour and fat used as a thickening agent in a soup or a sauce. Roux is a shortening of beurre roux, which in French translates as "brown butter."

Soubise - a garnish or white sauce containing onions or onion purée. Soubise is said to be named after 18th-century French nobleman Charles de Rohan, Prince de Soubise, a favorite of Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour.

Velouté - a soup or sauce made of chicken, veal, or fish stock and cream and thickened with butter and flour. Velouté, in French, means "velvetiness" or "softness." It is related to velours, which gave English velour, a word for velvety material.

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Zweisamkeit (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Zweisamkeit, die

noun

[ feminine ] /ˈʦvaizamkait/

genitive , singular Zweisamkeit | nominative , plural Zweisamkeiten

„Togetherness“; being together in harmony

ex. Wir sind am liebsten daheim in trauter Zweisamkeit.

“What we like best is being at home when it’s just the two of us.”

Or — it’s 1982 and Agatha Harkness fucks her lover in their dingy little studio apartment in Berlin.

Content/Warnings: WitchKiller!Agatha(they just talk about it tho), fluff, NSFW, soft sex, morning sex, slight mommy kink, praise, it's pretty cute and vanilla, oral, vaginal fingering (A receiving), dry humping, they’re lovebirds your honour, smoking, mentions of alcohol consumption.

A few rays of the grey morning light peaked through the mismatched curtains of your apartment, exposing dust particles dancing through the air. The metal bed frame you‘d recently acquired stood kind of awkwardly in the middle of the room, you hadn’t really figured out the set up of the new place yet.

The studio apartment was small, especially for how expensive it was, there were pipes exposed above your head and the shower took several minutes to run lukewarm at best. When Agatha had shown you the apartment initially, you were less than impressed. The walls were bare, it was small and her collection of centuries old books cramped up the place, and, if you were honest, you were way too close to The Wall for your liking. But the witch was nothing if not insistent.

The closer she was to the rustle of people the better. The higher the emotions ran, the more likely magical talent was to form. Magical talent that she could then suck out to her heart's content. So you‘d taken the place, despite how shit the deal had been. And, slowly, you’d grown to like it here. You liked living with her. Your collection of vinyls and posters mixed well with her books and artefacts, there were plants and thrifted lamps hanging from the high ceiling. She had carved runes into the window frame that kept the sounds of the busy streets out, so on mornings like this, you could enjoy the quiet, bask in the illusion of peace even in the middle of the world's loudest city today.

In the mornings like this, it was just you, standing in the kitchen in nothing but a pair of fluffy socks and a knitted sweater so large it slipped off one shoulder, the gentle snoring coming from the bed where Agatha was still fast asleep between the sheets, and the kettle‘s distant hum filled the room. Her leather jacket lay next to the bed crumpled up on the floor, a habit she had only adapted since arriving in Berlin, as if the chaos of the city had washed away her ability to clean a mess with the flick of her wrist. You‘d scold her about it later, if you didn’t forget.

When the quiet hum of the kettle turned into a whistle, you quickly took it off the heat, turned off the stove, and poured the boiling water into the cup before you. One glance over your shoulder and you saw the noise hadn’t stirred the witch awake, she was still curled up and breathing evenly.

You didn’t exactly love the instant coffee, but the kitchen was small and countertop space was limited. Of course, Agatha had lots to complain about your decision against a real coffee maker for counter spaces sake. But when you‘d bent her over the small kitchen island and made her come undone three times in a row from behind, she’d given in. The promise of the favour being returned had also kept you surprisingly consistent with cleaning your dishes, too.

Once the coffee powder had fully dissolved in both mugs, dark liquid steaming and filling the air with, you tiptoed around the kitchen island, crawling back onto the bed where Agatha was still asleep. The slight dip of the mattress as you shuffled your way back to your spot beside her made her stir, turning from one side to the other, eyes still closed, brow creased just the slightest in an attempt to stay asleep just a few moments longer. Even as the light began to blind her, as the day tugged at her consciousness, pulling her out of slumber.

Careful not to spill any of the hot drinks, you leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow as Agatha scrunched up her nose.

A few weeks ago, you‘d tried to get her to pierce her eyebrow, just for fun, and she had frowned at you. Anyone who lived as long as she had knew not to give in to frivolous trends that would be out of style in the blink of an eye again.

That mindset certainly hadn’t stopped her from any of her crazy hair journeys though.

Somehow, despite the aggressive perm she‘d gotten, Agatha’s deepwood brown curls were still soft to the touch, and even when she teased them up on the weekends to form a cloud of frizz and hairspray around her face, there was always a shimmer to them. She‘d trimmed her own bangs last night, after you had brought a girl home that had sworn she could foresee the future for her. The poor thing turned out to be just an unassuming dyke really into tarot, not a single actually magical bone in her body for Agatha to siphon.The witch had sighed in frustration after chasing the frightened girl out, who probably wasn’t going to let a stranger on the corner lure her into ominous Plattenbauten apartments again any time soon. In a way, Agatha joked over a bottle of cheap wine, you‘d done her a favour. But still, twenty minutes later she’d emerged from the bathroom, a set of scissors still in hand.

Now, in the greyish morning light of the cloudy Berlin November, you noticed the trim wasn’t exactly even. You should definitely fix that some time today. The view made you chuckle, a sound that finally motivated Agatha to surrender to the world and open her eyes, even if she just blinked up at you, licking her lips, dry from sleep.

„Good Morning“, you purred as she slowly sat up, one hand running through her wild, unkempt hair before the other pulling the blanket with her, staying wrapped up in it’s warmth as her head came to rest on your shoulder.

„Morning“, she grumbled back, voice still raspy, and took one of the mugs you were still balancing in your hands from you. One whiff of the steaming liquid, and her lips curled into a soft smile, glancing over at you. Two sugar cubes, minimal splash of milk, exactly how she loved it. „Thank you“, she hummed, taking her first sip, „To what do I owe the pleasure? Did I miss our anniversary?“

You chuckled and shook your head at that, putting your own coffee down on your nightstand, next to the ashtray already halfway filled with cigarette buds and burnt out joints.

„Nothing like that“, you assured her, hand shuffling around the nightstand without leaning over too far, so you wouldn’t disrupt Agatha’s head still resting on your shoulder. „I just felt bad you didn’t get the power up you wanted last night, so I thought I’d surprise you. I was gonna make eggs too but someone emptied the box and didn’t put them on the grocery list.“

Your fingers found the pack of Marlboros, pulling a single cigarette out and placing the filter between your lips as you glanced over at Agatha. One look at your best pleading face, eyes wide and bottom lip pushed forward, and she rolled her eyes, your cigarette lighting up in a little spark of purple.

Taking a satisfied first drag, you slid down on the mattress a little, just enough to wrap your arm around her waist under the blanket, pulling her warm body further into you.

„Just wait a few years and everyone will realise those things are poison and turn their back on them“, Agatha said, her own arm draping over you, head now on your chest, where she continued sipping her coffee.

Her thigh found its way to lay on top of your legs, and smoke got stuck in your throat at the feeling of her warm, bare skin against yours. Trying your best to act nonchalant, you attempted to swallow down the little cough burning in your lungs. With her ear right at your chest, Agatha obviously noticed , and she gave you a knowing smile.

“Pure Poison." She repeated, eyes never leaving yours as she sat up to put her cup down. The blanket fell off her shoulders, and revealed that she was in fact wearing nothing underneath. Her bare, milky skin bright in the morning light, back stretching to reach over to her nightstand. You swallowed hard, eyes running down her spine. Every little curve of her body from where dark curls fell over her shoulders down to where the blanket concealed her tailbone. She was breathtaking, especially in the morning light, with her hair wild and untamed, muscles flexing as she stretched herself awake, little wrinkles around her eyes. Oh, her eyes. The brightest, most vibrant shade of blue in this entire city, maybe the world.

„Enjoying the view?“, the same blue twinkled at you with amusement when you glanced up, blood rushing into your cheeks at her knowing smirk. She turned back to face you, her naked form on full display. She’d never been the prudent type, lounging on the bed or the couch in nothing but her robe plenty of times, always smirking to herself when you did a bad job at trying not to stare.

Right now, you didn’t even think about trying. You attempted another drag from your cigarette, eyes wandering slowly up her body, from the dark patch of curls between her thighs over the little trail of hair up her tummy. With your current routine of late mornings and long evenings, often dancing the night away at SOUND or at secret parties in warehouses around the city, she’d developed a fine outline of abs, muscles that tensed when you ran your fingers over them, that were firm against your back when you pressed yourself against her in the middle of a packed dance floor. There was a scar on her ribs that you hadn’t had the courage to ask about yet. Her body was littered in scars, souvenirs and memories of a long life lived, but whenever you asked she always just gave the same answers.

Encounters with death.

You never pushed her to say more. She valued your kindness and you valued her privacy.

Right now, your eyes dragged further up her body past her scars anyway. Pale morning light illuminated her bare chest, ner nipples rosy and peaked against the cool air, the slight breeze from the open window. The curve of round flesh, a faint little bite mark on the underside of her right breast. You felt your mouth water at the sight, licking your lips like a starving dog.

Agatha chuckled, mischief in her eyes. One of her hands reached out to you, long fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before hooking under your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Are you gonna answer my question or do i have to make you?” Her voice dropped low, that breathy, heavy tone swinging in it that let you know she knew exactly what was going on in your head. And that she wanted you, too.

You swallowed, hard. “Just thinking about breakfast, actually.” You lied, and the roll of Agatha’s eyes was theatrical.

With one quick movement, she swung her leg over yours, leaving the last bit of blanket that covered her behind for good. Now she was straddling your lap, one hand on your shoulder, pushing you back against the headboard. You hit the metal frame with a thud, air leaving your lungs in a soft groan. The metal was cold against your exposed shoulder blades, pinned to it by a firm palm on your chest.

Her other hand found the cigarette between your lips, tips of her fingers brushing over your bottom lip. You surrendered it to her immediately, lips parting in a surprised little gasp, and she took the opportunity to take the cigarette and stump it out on the ashtray beside you.

„You know I hate the taste of those“, she sighed, hand returning to cup your cheek, thumb resting just below your bottom lip.

„’m sorry“, you murmured, staring up at her almost sheepishly, pupils blown out wide. The last few dancing tendrils of smoke evaporated through your nose, not wanting to blow any into her face. A small cough rumbled in your throat, but you managed to suppress it.

Once that was gone, you pushed your chin forward, lips parting to meet hers in a heated kiss. But her palm on your chest was firm, keeping you just out of reach. At the little pout you gave her, the corners of Agatha’s mouth turned upwards into a sly little smirk.

“Not so fast”, she hummed, head tilting to the side ever so slightly, “I thought we were doing breakfast in bed?”

“Agathaaa!” Your pout intensified, trying to push against her hold to connect your lips again. She laughed, a sound so low in her throat it made your skin crawl. You felt her hips shift against your lap, a movement so minimal you would have missed it if it wasn’t for the sudden warmth against your bare thigh. The sudden, wet sensation brushing over your skin, Agatha sucking in the tiniest breath. Now it was your turn to smirk.

Both of your hands found her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath them. With one swift motion, you flipped your positions. Agatha’s back hit the mattress and she gasped, sheets flying at the sudden movement. Your palms pressed her down into the cushions. And you were kneeling between her legs, which were still loosely wrapped around your own hips, knees pushed up. When her eyes found yours, they were dark, lashes fluttering as she inhaled sharply.

“I see how it is”, she breathed, hands finding your lower arms, fingers dragging over the rough fabric of your sweater. Upwards, over your elbows, touch so fleeting it almost made you ticklish, shuddering even through your clothing. Her palms ran over your shoulders, past the collar of your shirt where finally, you felt her skin on skin. Her fingertips, hot to the touch teased over your neck, palming your jaw with both hands, thumbs on your lower lip. Instinctively, your mouth opened to let her fingers enter. Agatha chuckled at that, instead opting to rest her thumbs just beside each corner of your mouth instead, leaving your mouth hanging open but empty.

You licked your lips in an attempt to play down your frustration, sucking your lower lip in to gently bite down onto the soft flesh. You were practically trembling with want beneath her palms.

“Agatha plea—”

“Shhh baby”, Agatha leaned back against the pillow, hair sprawled out around her face like a dark halo. Her chest rose and fell evenly, and if it wasn’t for the heat radiating off her skin, for the slight flush of her cheeks, she’d look almost casual. Too casual for how your breath came rattling, how your stomach was turning and you could feel your legs shake just the slightest bit with anticipation.

One of Agatha’s legs stretched out behind you and for a moment you gave her a look of confusion. But then, you felt something shift underneath you. She’d kicked one of the crocheted throw pillows scattered across the bed between your legs, right underneath where you were dripping with want. Her brows now raised expectantly at you. Releasing your lip from between your teeth in a sharp gasp, you slowly lowered yourself down until you were resting on top of the pillow. The fabric was rough against you, immediately soaking up some of your liquid heat as you settled down. God, your skin was practically burning up. It took everything in your power not to just grind down against it until you came right now. The thought was certainly tantalising. Instead, you held perfectly still, shivering with anticipation, eyes wide and dark as they stared up at Agatha, awaiting her instructions. It was no secret that she liked to be in control, and it was nothing new that you let her, every beat of your heart aiming to please her.

Watching you hold yourself perfectly still for her, Agatha nodded, lips pursed with satisfaction. “That’s my baby.”

Her legs hooked over your shoulders, caging your head in between her soft, milky thighs. Warm skin mere inches from your ears, the weight on your shoulders grounding. It made the blood in your head run hot.

“Now”, fingers dug into your hair, nails dragging over your scalp until she got a good grip on your roots. With slight force, she pushed your head down, towards her exposed center. Her whisper was low, but it still rang through you like a prayer as you let her guide your head where she wanted it. “Make Mommy feel good.”

With her legs over your shoulders like this, she left you no option to tease along the soft insides of her thighs first. Instead, with your arms wrapped around her thighs, you leaned down to press one single, closed mouthed kiss right to her centre. The shift in position made your back arch, and your aching clit rubbed against the rough fabric of the pillow you sat on. A sudden, hot wave of pleasure ran through your body, and a loud, needy whine escaped your lips right into Agatha’s dripping core. You felt her legs shift, heels digging into your back.

“Focus, baby”, Agatha’s drawl rang through your head, „Don’t get distracted.“

In response your tongue darted out, parting her drenched folds along its way. You licked from her very core, over her entrance where you could feel her muscles clenching, all the way up to the hood of her clit, dragging the tip of your tongue in a tight circle around the bundle of nerves.

The moan that left Agatha‘s lips shook her entire body, you felt her hands tighten their grip on your hair.

„Yes darling, exactly like that!“

You drew another circle around her clit, your own hips pushing down against the pillow below. The mix of your own stimulation and Agatha’s slick arousal coating your mouth was absolutely maddening. Grinding down against the pillow, you flattened your tongue against her, a deep, guttural moan shaking your body,sending the vibrations right to her clit. Continuing to lap at her most sensitive spot, your eyes flickered up to watch her. Agatha’s head was thrown back, her eyes shut, lips parted as she groaned, beautifully mixing with the wet sounds you were making buried chin deep in her cunt.

You’d have to thank her for the muting runes she’d installed on the open windows, otherwise someone walking down the street below your window would have surely heard what you were up to.

As your own cunt dragged back and forth against the pillow beneath you, you could feel the wet stain you’d made already, feel your stomach tighten with each time your hips grinded down in tune with your tongue running through Agatha’s drenched folds. You wouldn’t last much longer, and your hips began to ache.

Unwrapping one of your arms from around Agatha’s thigh, you let your free hand drag over the crease where her thigh met her core. Agatha shuddered at the touch, and you had to grin against her, lips slick with her arousal by now.

Pressing one last kiss to her folds, your tongue teasing probed at her entrance, pushing inside her just a little. Her heels dug into your back harder, making you grunt.

Your index and middle finger dragged up through the mess she’d made, pressing down on her pulsating, swollen bundle of nerves once before running back towards her entrance, collecting slick on their way. Angling your hand just right, you pressed a small kiss to her thigh, relishing in the way her entire body shuddered, her hips pushing up, searching for your contact, desperate for your touch.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, losing the rhythm of your own hips grinding down for a moment.

Unable to wait any longer, you leaned back down, lips wrapping around her clit at the same time as your fingers slid into her, meeting no resistance on their way.

Agatha’s moan was guttural, from deep down within her, and the sound sent a hot wave of pleasure right down your spine. You began to suck, tongue swirling around her clit like you were exploring it for the first time, and your fingers began to pump in and out of her in sync with your own hips grinding down against the pillow.

Your fingers curled upwards inside her, tips dragging over her walls, feeling her muscles tightening and releasing against you. With each thrust you pushed in just a little further, just a little bit harder, poking that one spot of spongy flesh that made her scream out your name.

The louder her gasps and moans got, the more you felt blinded by pleasure. Your body was moving on its own, rusty bed frame creaking beneath you, your spine tingled with the promise of release. Agatha’s hips pushed up into you, her grip vice like in your hair as she pushed you down against herself harder. And then the last twine holding her together snapped. She pressed your face tightly against herself, hips stuttering as your fingers pressed inside her, thighs shaking as she rode out her orgasm on your face.

Your eyes were shut, it was hard to breathe in this position. All you could taste or smell was Agatha, feel her thighs clench around your head, her moans ringing through your ears. And the feeling of all of your senses being overtaken by Agatha’s release, your hips pushed down against the pillow once more before your own peak overtook you.

Warmth pooled in your stomach before spreading in your entire body, pleasure climbed up your entire spine, the moan you released into Agatha’s cunt made the woman beneath you shiver.

Finally, her legs loosened around your head, and she tugged you away from her swollen, drenched cunt, still shaking from slight overstimulation. You released her clit from your lips with a wet pop, flat tongue licking up her entire core one more time, collecting as much of her release as you could. Eyes never leaving hers, you closed your lips and swallowed, humming at the taste of her. It was divine.

You gently pulled your fingers out with a wet sound.

After a moment, Agatha’s eyes watched your every more, sky blue and darkened and still overtaken with pleasure. Sweat glistened on her brow, but it was nothing compared to your chin drenched in her desire, to her juices coating your lips.

You felt a slight tug in your hair when Agatha pulled you up towards her.

Crawling up her body on shaky limbs proved slightly awkward, especially when Agatha tugged you towards her with both hands, cradling your face. The moment you were in reach, she surged forward, pressing her lips to yours. It was gentle and soft but you still felt an urgency lying underneath. A need to claim you, to remind both of you that you were here, with her, and that you weren’t going anywhere. You let her lick herself off your lips, falling against the mattress next to her, limbs entangled and arms wrapped tightly around her.

When she had to pull away to let both of you breathe, you couldn’t help but grin at her. “Hi.“

Her eyes scanned your face in disbelief, and then she rolled her eyes. „Good morning to you too“, she chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair stuck to your forehead back, her hand now gently running through where she’d tugged and pulled mere moments ago. You let out a content little sigh at her gentle touch. „I could do this all day“, you hummed, pulling her closer by her wait, until you rested skin on skin.

One of Agatha’s legs swung over yours, pulling you even closer.

„Well“, she purred, leaning forward to nip at the soft skin just beneath your ear, „I have no other plans for the day.“

[morellywrong]

Missing Out

Ethan Landry x afab reader (fem pronouns/nouns)

Warnings: stalking, obsession, Ethan's a pretty lil psycho, descriptions of murdering and torture, Ethan is actually fucked bro, reader is wearing a dress, Ethan is kinda neuro-divergent- coded (real), both Ethan and reader will be bi-coded because I said so, also some gross lil things in there for fun :)

Part 1 (?)

"Hey, y/n!" Ethan beams as he catches up to you, on your way to your morning class.

"Oh, hey Ethan...you sure are chipper this morning." You chuckle softly as he adjusts his bag strap on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I don't know, I guess I slept pretty good- I had a productive evening." He beams softly, walking alongside you, matching his usually long strides to better fit yours.

"Oh yeah, get all your work done?"

Flashes of the previous evening washed over Ethan's mind, his grin only growing.

"Please! Please, I didn't do anything!!!" The boy sobs, his eye swollen, lips bleeding and a deep gash on the side of his neck hes desperately trying to keep pressure on with his broken hand.

"...that's where you're wrong...you got in the way." Ethan hisses, his voice modulator clipped into the inside of his signature Ghostface mask, wiping the blood slowly from his knife.

"Please...please..." The boy begs helplessly, tears running down his cheeks, snot bubbling under his nose as he backs away weakly, only for his back to be met with the wall.

"Please, please...." Ethan mocks him, stepping closer, his heavy boots thumping against the concrete of the warehouse he'd dragged his latest victim to.

"No one will hear you scream...no one will remember you...not even her...youre nothing..." The boy yelled out in anguish, choked sobs becoming more and more liquidated-

Ethan snaps back to reality as he turns towards you again, still smiling brightly.

"Yeah, it was....good, I got everything finished sooner than I thought."

"Wow...maybe I should get you to do my coursework sometime." You chuckle softly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow. Heat spreads across his face as he lets out a breathless laugh, looking away.

"Y...yeah, well, maybe..." He mumbles, his dimples showing as he glances back to you.

"Oh, are you going to the frat party later tonight? Tara, Mindy and Anika invited me....Chad'll be there too..." You hum, offering the idea with a small grin.

Ethan's heart hammers in his chest, feeling that type of love sickness his Dad used to talk about with his mother.

Well. Before Wade had all his children assist in killing their mother. Ethan tried not to think about it too much.

"I...I'd love too, y/n..." He whispers, his pupils dilated so much one would assume he'd taken something to help him focus more on his studies.

Or watch the sky melt.

"Cool....uh, wanna meet at the party? Quinn offered to drive us girls there and back, since she'd got a date tonight..." You giggle slightly, even though you're glad there'll be a designated driver.

"Sure, uh, I've, uh, never really been to many parties, though. I get a little nervous in crowds." He lies, brows creased together, portraying that awkward, shy boy you know him as.

"Don't worry. You can stick with me the entire night....I don't drink much anyways..." You beam softly as you stop outside your class.

"I'll see you after Econ?" He nodded quickly, propping up on the balls of his feet briefly to try and contain his excitement.

"See you. Meet for lunch?"

"Defintiely. I heard there's pretzels today." You smirk softly as he lets out another breathless laugh.

"Yeah...." He murmurs in a slight daze as you walk into the lecture hall, giving him a small wave before leaving his sight.

He leans back against the wall, holding onto the straps of his backpack as his cheeks heat up even more, biting the inside of his cheek with an uncontrollable beam plastered on his pale face.

You had spent lunch with Ethan, sat on the grass outside one of the lecture halls, laughing together about how crappy most of the lecturers are, and exchanging mild stories about how boring your days were. But soon enough you had your last classes of the day to attend, afterwards he walked you to your dorm building.

He always insisted on walking you all the way to your dorm room, claiming it was safer.

"There's a psycho on the news, haven't you heard??" He beams playfully at you as you playfully push at his arm. He's been mentioning it ever since the first disappearances.

"Please, I'm not important enough of a target, let alone being noticed by some killer." You roll you eyes as he watches you take your keys out of your bag pocket.

Keys that he definitely hasn't got like 4 copies of each key on there. He's pretty sure one of them is just for a small indoor window, and another is to your old locker key that you still have on your keychain for some reason- even though he defintely has a copy of your current locker key.

It's the stupid little things he likes in life, after all. And something about you not caring to throw the old key out just makes him love you more.

"Nah, maybe the killer is secretly targeting you...maybe he's watching you sleep-" He grins playfully, watching you send him an unimpressed look.

"Alright, get out of here, you're not supposed to be in this building anyway...I think we'll be at the frat party at like 9, ask Chad, I'm sure Tara's told him all the details." You smirk whilst tapping the side of your nose playfuly. He taps his in return, grinning. It was no secret those two were grossly infatuated with each other.

"I'll see you later. Text me if you need anything." He responds like clockwork, a usual closing response he offers to you out of the kidness of his heart. And definitely not obsession.

"I will." You insist with a chuckle, before closing your door and leaving him beaming by himself crazily once more, rolling onto the balls of his feet once, twice then three times before he catches himself, correcting his body language quickly.

"You look so fucking good!" Tara beams, a shot or two already in her system, deciding to pregame before the party as you got ready with the other three party-goers.

She stood behind you, admiring your body as you stand in front of her bedroom mirror.

"I don't know...it's a bit revealing..." You mumble sheepishly as you glance at your reflection, at the new dress you had bought the last time you were out with the girls.

"Shut up, no one will care, if anything, it's a good thing, dummy." Mindy beams from the couch, Anika fixing the back collar of her shirt, both also a little tipsy.

"Yeah, girls and guys are gonna be all over you."

"Chad'll keep an eye on us though, he always does." Tara smiles gently as she helps adjust the straps on your shoulders, her fingers leaving a small tingling feeling against your bare skin.

"More like he keeps an eye on you." Quinn smirks from the doorway, eyeing your outfit up and down with almost hungry eyes.

"Nice dress, y/n...hey, you guys ready?" She holds up her car keys with a small shake, the metal jingling in her hand.

"Yes! Let's fucking go, girls!" Mindy exclaims, standing up and grabbing her girlfriends hand.

"Let's go!!" Anika grins brightly.

"Let's go, cmon!" Tara grabs your own hand in her's, practically dragging you behind her.

When you arrive the party, it's pretty much already at full force. Drunken jocks, flashy cheerleaders, theatre kids talking loudly in the corner, math wizz's awkwardly stood in their small gaggles. It's refreshing, in a way, to see the students enjoying themselves and taking a break from studying.

"It's fucking loud..." You mumble, glancing over at the giant speakers in the corner and the 'DJ' set up the frat house had set up for the party. Your ears strained as you winced, before gasping.

"I feel like i'm inside the fucking speaker!" Chad beams, his voice making you and Tara jump as he places a hand on your shoulder, the other on Tara's shoulder. His head appeared between you, but he was grinning at Tara.

You glance behind him, beaming softly as you spot Ethan stood there. He looks like he's already spacing out, disassociating from the crowd once he realises how loud and chaotic it was.

In reality, Ethan's zeroing in on a girl staring at you. She's one of the cheerleaders. Bitchy, blonde, ditzy, pretty stereotypical but there she is. She's whispering to her friends, gesturing towards you and smiling as they all giggle.

He's trying to figure out if she's making fun of you or if she's into you. Either way, he's going to paint someone's walls with her blood by the end of the night.

"Ethan?" He glances down at you, a smile breaking onto his face beyond his control.

"Hey! Sorry, uh..."

"I get it. I space out at parties a lot. It's jut so overstimulating sometimes." You reassure him, nudging him softly with your shoulder.

"Y....yeah, that's it! Sorry, I tend to space out pretty often..." He plays it off, before his eyes snap to your outfit- the tight dress you'd decided to wear, before he forces himself to meet your eyes, respectfully. He needed to have patience, he didn't want to creep you out or scare you away from him- at least not /yet/.

You didn't need to know about the cameras hidden in your dorm room.

"Hey, wanna grab a drink? I'll stay with you, don't worry." You offer, speaking over the music.

Ethan grinned a little more sternly than he had intended to as you playfully link your arm with his, his cheeks lighting up- he was grateful for the dark lighting of the frat party. The only real light was LED lights that blessed the room with a purple and red glow.

He glances back over the cheeleader, she's glaring at him, her knuckles tense as she grips her plastic paper cup so tight it starts to crinkle and strain. He just sent her a dark look, before walking with you to the kitchen of the frat house- where the alcohol is.

[cosmerelists]

Custom Collective Nouns for Radiant Spren

As requested by anon. :)

You know how there's collective nouns for animals, like a "murder of crows," or a "flamboyance of flamingos" or a "clowder of cats"? Those custom collective nouns sure are fun! So this anon asked what groups of Radiant spren are called. Here is what I think would be neat!

1. A Matrix of Cryptics

This was suggested by the anon who requested this list, and they are so correct.

2. A Judgment of Highspren

I considered other options as well, such as a "Pronouncement of Highspren" or a "Determination of Highspren," but "Judgment" felt right.

3. A Zephyr of Honorspren

A "zephyr" is a type of breeze, which felt right for the windspren-like Honorspren.

4. A Prism of Mistspren

Inspired by how they look like light reflecting onto a surface through a crystal. Plus, it evokes the shattered glass imagery that's always around Renarin, so

5. A Summit of Peakspren

Okay, maybe this one is TOO on the nose, but I like it! Yes, they are mountains so ha ha "summit," but also, a "summit" can be a gathering of people, and I like that lowkey pun.

6. A Verdancy of Cultivationspren

"Verdancy" is the noun from "verdant," so green and flourishing. Makes sense for Cultivationspren, right?

7. A Conflagration of Ashspren

I also considered something like "Curiosity" or "Marvel" to represent their interest in how things work, but "Conflagration" does speak to destruction and makes one think of fire, and therefore ash.

8. An Idiosyncrasy of Reachers

"Idiosyncrasy" is a word referring to a someone's peculiar or individualized behavior/character--it's built off of the ancient Greek idio (self, one's own) + krasis (mixture): so basically, it's your own personal blend. I love that for Reachers, the spren of Willshapers.

9. An Atrament of Inkspren

But this one is my favorite! "Atrament" is a word meaning "a very dark substance, especially a liquid." So - ink, yeah? But also, it's an obscure word, one stemming from the Latin for black, ater, and I think that sort of learned obscurity would appeal to an Inkspren.

[konigbabe]

pearls before swine

DAY 6 ⇢ Monster-fucking Pairing: kitsune!Satoru Gojo x fem!reader Word count: 2.7k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; public sex; p-in-v; exhibitionism; dirty talk; hints of praise kink; manhandling; Gojo has a tale (nine of them altogether) and fangs; mention of blood/bleeding; Japanese mythology and folklore Summary: Visiting the Shinto shrine – somehow – leads to you getting wrecked by a mischievous trickster fox on an open balcony and with no shame. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Divider is mine. Art credit goes to 月刺啾 (@/x2MciyELLRZRhg1) on Twitter [source].

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

kitsune 狐 /kɪtˈsuː.neɪ/ noun; a Japanese fox spirit capable of shapeshifting into human form and are known to be cunning and playful, mysterious and malevolent.

You've heard the stories. Read about them. Creatures that use their shape-shifting abilities to take on human form and fool people into doing whatever they want. Tricking their prey into surrendering their deepest emotions and desires – the very essence of life itself.

In the midst of the Azalea festival, when the flowers are in full bloom – teal, lilac, and violet hues painting a pastoral picture – it's hard to find a quiet place. Especially near the main sanctuary of the Shinto shrine. Moving near the offering hall, that was when you first spotted him, towering over everyone.

He was standing beside a fox statue, arm draping over the sculpture's head, fingers as slender and agile as a ballet dancer's tracing the contours of the fox's snout. Your senses felt as though they were playing tricks on you as you watched his eyes – so pale they seemed to shimmer like a frozen lake, its lightness bordering on translucence – glide across the courtyard until they reached your kimono-clad body.

But it wasn't his demeanor – dismissive and blasé, laced with a hint of curiosity – that rendered you speechless. No. Rather, it was his appearance – a fusion of the human and the surreal. Japanese have a word for that: ‘yūgen'.

A shock of silver hair framed his face, its strands made of liquid mercury, catching the faint light of the morning sun. Yet, what truly seized your gaze were the symbols on his face – three sapphire tear-shaped drops gracing the lower edges of his almond-shaped eyes, a matching azure line tracing his waterline, gently extending beyond the corners of his eyes. Two cobalt dots adorned each corner of his upturned mouth, while another trio of sapphire lines adorned his forehead, with the middle one flowing onto the bridge of his sharp nose – reminiscent of the wind's delicate patterns. His skin porcelain-smooth and pale, accentuating the ethereal quality of his appearance.

And for some inexplicable reason, you appeared to be the only one capable of seeing him – it. Coming to a halt beneath the torii gate, he turned his head slightly, a strand of silvery hair cascading down over his left eye. The world around you seemed to hush, a stillness setting in; time itself stilling when his eyes locked onto yours from afar, leaving your lips parted in both awe and intrigue.

"You look so pretty," he murmurs, lips gliding over your neck, "when you're at my mercy."

The sharp sting of his fangs gliding under your ear, tracing the probing vein, causes goosebumps to form and travel along the spines of your arms and legs. You feel the warm hiss of his breath, the hot roughness of his tongue against your neck. Toes curling, feet dirty from the ground as the fox pounds into you. Hands gripping the wooden railing of the small balcony that overlooks a pond with koi fish swimming peacefully in.

You're not sure if someone has seen you yet. Seen the lewd image of getting fucked by someone – something – not entirely humane.

The sharp edges of his claws dig into your hips, kimono long discarded on the floor. Naked body swaying in the rhythm to the sharp thrusts. Softness melting into hardness. Satoru – his name echoed in your mind when his hand first touched your skin; as if you were already familiar with the fox – pulls you back to meet his hips, bare body dressed only in his haori, the same sapphire shade as his eyes, draped over his shoulders, arms hidden underneath the silken jacket.

Each stroke of his cock massages your walls, spreading apart the tender flesh between your legs. The ridge of his head presses up against that sweet spot deep inside you. Your thighs press together so you can feel it again. Little sparks of pleasure shoot through your body, making you moan as he brushes over everything that feels good.

"Huh–," his nails, razor-sharp and dangerous, rake over your abdomen. The palm presses flat against the contour of your tummy – hard – as if he's trying to feel how the tip of his cock bruises the opening of your cervix with each thrust. "Eeaasy now," his voice silky smooth just like his skin, "shush, we don't want anyone seeing you like this, right?"

A particularly loud moan emanates from your chest; his words drawn out by the pleasure surging through your veins. Mind feeling too good to be inhibited by anything else.

"Or do you want your friends to see you getting fucked by the devil like me," Satoru's tone lingers in the back of your head. The hand on your abdomen moving downward, toying with your clit. Rubbing circles before pressing against its sides.

You can feel him smile against your neck as he continues to thrust deep into you, each movement harder and faster than the last. His claws dig into your hips, biting into the skin there in a way that's both abrasive and soothing.

"I can't," the breath rushes out of you, leaving your head spinning and the earth swimming as Satoru pulls back to watch you clutch the railing. You're sure you're going to collapse at any moment, but you can feel him watching as your knuckles grind into the wood. Until he’s leaning in again, lips exploring your shoudlerblades,, "I can't–Satoru–hngh."

He's warm. The skin of his chest presses flat against your arching back.He turns his hips into you; the pressure mounts at your core, building up to a burning coil. Lewd sounds of skin slapping skin heating up your cheeks, burning your ears as shame tickles at the edges of your mind.

It's blaring. Flashy.

Loud.

"Hehe," he chuckles against your shoulder and you feel his teeth sink into the flesh there, careful not to puncture the delicate skin, "what pretty sounds we make."

And for a moment, you allow yourself to drown. To have the fox ravage you. Cock thrusting deep inside and with each withdrawal, your slickness sloshing out of you. Messy and wet. Coating your thighs in it. And yet it urges Satoru to go harder. Deeper.

Leaning over your body, his hands press along your ribcage before coming to rest on the tops of your shoulders. The weight of him feels like it's anchoring you in place – even though all he’s doing is encircling you with his arms and keeping no distance between your two bodies.

Thick white lashes that frame his eyes hide his true feelings while the half-smile playing on his lips remains unchanged.

His thumbs make tiny circles beneath your breasts, brushing across their undersides. A whimper escapes your lips when he pulls away, pulls out. The sudden emptiness prompting a muffled sound from the back of your throat – which earns you a playful slap on the curve of your ass.

"You're very loud, you know that?"

Satoru turns you around, hands remaining on your ribcage as he lifts you up effortlessly. Legs reflectively wrapping around his narrow hips, feeling his hipbones dig into the fat of your thighs. His presence suffocating the air from your lungs with a humid heat.

Your arms strain as you grip the railing behind you, body in the air while Satoru's arm supports your back, the other hand gripping his slick cock.

"It's not–agh," he pats your aching nub before gliding the tip over your slit, collecting the leaking wetness, "not like that."

He grins at you, eyes staring into yours with twinkles of mischief – or lust? – while smearing prespend over your swollen, empty hole.

"So you're not enjoying this," bending over you, kisses your nerves awake, his cheek nudges your head to the side so his lips can nibble at the taut skin of your jawline. And your eyes widen in shock.

People. More than a dozen people walking towards the chōzuya, a water well adjacent to the worship hall right next to the small sightseeing open building on which's balcony you're currently are in. Naked, legs wrapped around a kitsune, body completely exposed.

Just one look to the left is all anyone needs to do.

"Your body's burning," Satoru's breath scorches your ear. His cock, hard and pulsing, teases your entrance until it aches sweetly, "heh–want me to stop, pretty?"

"Ngh–" you shake your head, "don't stop."

"Good, now–," his lips graze yours the moment he slides the tip of his cock inside. Chest rambling with a sound distinctively similar to purring, "be a good girl and let me fuck you."

With that, he snaps his hips until he's buried inside of your cunt, filling you to the brink. Lowering his mouth to your skin, his fangs once again graze your shoulder blade; move alongside your clavicles until he reaches your sternum. Every deep exhale through his nose leaves an imprint on your flesh. It makes you feel like you're burning. Hot coals pressed against your skin.

His hands grip your ass. Kneading the flesh as he sets a relentless pace. Sinking deep inside with each drive of his hips.

Pushing yourself off the railing, you carefully swing your arms over his shoulders. Chest flush against his, you moan when your sensitive nipples graze the hard muscle of his torso.

"Ahh, Satoru–," your face buries in the mop of his hair when you feel his lips encircle your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue over the mound as he drives his cock in and out of your cunt; so slick and dripping that you feel almost no friction altogether, "feels so good."

His teeth nip at the soft meat of your breast, nipple glossy with saliva as he moves his attention to the other one. You feel it then – or maybe it's been there the whole time – a brush against your thigh; initially thinking it to be his hand. Only they both lay flat against your ass. It's soft. Thick. Bushy. And it wasn't there before, yet it moves around you, slithers until it rests along the length of your thigh.

"You're taking me so well, pretty," his pelvis rubs your clit each time he bottoms out, moving you to sit on the old, creaky wooden railing, allowing his heads to roam your body – which he takes full advantage of – and only tightening the band inside your abdomen, "makes me not wanna feed."

His words fly over your head. Mind fuzzy and empty. Instead, you gasp for breath, the need for air becoming desperate as you clutch onto Satoru, whose relentless thrusts show no signs of faltering.

Toes twitching, your legs tremble around his hips. Moan after moan escaping your throat as your hips grind against his, a pathetic attempt to meet his harsh thrust and grind on his pelvis – to feel at least a tiny slither of pressure against your swollen bud – to which Satoru takes notice. Hand moving to your hip, he squeezes the flesh before moving his thumb over your clit, toying with it.

You feel another bushy tail slither onto your other thigh; it makes your eyes open. That's when you finally take notice of his full nature. He doesn't have actual tails. Instead, something vaguely resembling tails slithers from behind his back. Translucent with blueish hue. You're capable of seeing through them all. The same hue radiates from his skin, from the patterns decorating his face–

Satoru's lips continue their assault on your nipples as curiosity floods your veins.

–it's almost like small clouds taking shape, flying over his body. It's –

"Beautiful," you whimper, feeling him stir underneath your palms. The fox looks up, hips stilling with his full cock warm inside you.

"What did you say," he asks. Eyes leaving the image before you, you cup his face with one hand, locking your gaze onto his – fire meeting ice.

"I said that you're beautiful," your lips trace his nose, the tear-shaped drops underneath his eyes. The dot on the corner of his lips before grazing the soft plumpness of his mouth. It sends tingles through you. A jolt. As if you were touching a sacred artifact, fingers cautiously exploring every curve and contour of his face left behind.

Satoru's breath catches, and he closes his eyes, allowing your exploration to continue for a while.

"Hah," his lips catch yours, an arm sneaking around your middle to bring you closer, the thumb on your clit rubbing and flicking against the nerve, making you whimper into his mouth, "you're the pretty one," he mumbles against your mouth.

Slowly moving his hips back, you feel every ridge and contour of his cock against your insides until only the head remains locked in. Then he snaps. Pushes forward with a newfound fervor.

Satoru's tongue flicks over yours. Sweetness tinges your senses. Like ripe berries on a warm summer day.

"The tasty one," he pulls away, forehead resting against yours as he feels your cunt flutter.

The tension inside your abdomen grows. Coiling around your insides like a tautly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Every deliberate movement from him tightens the invisible band.

With each flick of his thumb, your breath hitches, body quivers in response, cunt tightening around him. Each stroke of his cock. Sharp tongue tracing a searing path over your fevered skin, igniting your senses with each pass. Satoru's focus shifts – from your jaw to your neck, to your sternum, leaving no inch untouched by his maddening touch.

His hand squeezes the pliant flesh of your ass, giving it a gentle slap every once in a while when his cock brushes your cervix. You plead for release, voice a breathless whisper against his mouth. His response a flicker of dominance, fingers teasing your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Satoru–mmph–so close," your lips seal over his marking, eyes squeezing shut to contain the overwhelming sensations, "m'gonna cum."

"Then cum," he encourages, his voice a seductive purr as he flicks your swollen clit, "wanna see the face you make, pretty."

The tension reaches its breaking point with the roll of his tongue over your lower lip. The invisible band stretched to its limit. Every sensation, every touch, and every word weaves together into a pool of desire. Making you teeter on the edge, held captive by his electrifying presence, until finally, with one last snap, the tension shatters like glass. The band snaps.

"Ah, Satoru–"

"Ugh–there we go," pain mixes with pleasure. Fangs sinking into your shoulder, his claws dig into the meat on your hips. It stings when your skin is raptured. Crimson beads trail down towards his pivoting hips, fucking you through the orgasm. Through the overwhelming pleasure. Through your body spasming, cunt contracting against his cock.

He doesn't stop.

Not until the world fades away.

(Guess you should have seen that coming. What is the saying? Never trust a fox.)

"Hey, c'mon. Wake up."

You sense hands on your shoulders, shaking you vigorously. As you reluctantly open your eyes, a familiar face hovers above you, bathed in a soft, afternoon light, accompanied by a group of others. Your friend gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, grounding you as you blink away the remnants of slumber.

Oh no.

Hastily lowering your gaze, relief washes over you when you realise you're fully dressed. But if you're fully dressed…

"What happened?" you croak, voice tinged with confusion, the world still hazy around the edges.

Nothing seems to add up right now.

"You tell me," your friend grins, their features coming into sharper focus as the surrounding crowd gradually dissolves. "You told me you were gonna buy some shinsen for the offering hall but you disappeared. An employee found you here," you scan your surroundings, recognizing the familiar balcony in front of you, "sleeping on a bench. Completely passed out. Out of it. She couldn't even wake you up."

Sleeping on a bench.

"Sorry," you mutter, fingers instinctively rubbing your eyes, senses now fully awakened.

Was it all a dream? "Guess I got tired."

It couldn't be a dream. Not when you push yourself to stand up and feel the strain in your legs. Stickiness. Slickness between your thighs.

"What's that?" your friend points towards your clenched fist. Opening your hand, palm up, both of you gaze at a small, iridescent bead with barely discernible sapphire swirls dancing across its smooth surface.

"Don't know."

"Looks like a fox's pearl. They sell those at the charm shop," your friend nods their head towards a nearby charm shop before both of you start walking. Time to go home.

[raisingmybanner]

Accretion (a royai big bang longfic)

Fandom | Rating | Length: Fullmetal Alchemist | T | 155k COMPLETE

Summary:

accretion [ə-ˈkrē-shən] noun: An accidental deposit of “foreign” material that was not part of the painting process, f. ex. dried liquid residue, flyspecks, etc. (from Stella Art Conservation, LLC) Riza Hawkeye has worked as Security Director for private art authenticator Roy Mustang for eight years with little trouble. However, recently Mustang has taken on riskier and higher-stakes jobs, putting himself and his team in danger of exposure and harm. The objective of a new undercover job – authenticating an elusive ink drawing while undercover on a three-week island retreat – hits too close to home for Riza. Secrets carefully kept threaten to be brought to light, exacerbated by the closeness required while posing as a young engaged couple. Hold on, they have to pose as an… engaged couple? For three weeks?!

Vibes: Modern day Amestris AU, big ol' romcom, casual intimacy, what if instead of military alchemy it's dubiously legal art nerdery, everything BUT a heist, idiots to lovers, fake dating, FEELINGS, emotional support Hayate

The story includes gorgeous illustrations done by some extremely talented artists who have been working tirelessly for months. Go give them some love! You'll find pieces from @justanotherinterneruser, @chewytran, @areyousanta, and Crystal Capsids @rizaposting throughout Accretion, bringing it to life. You'll also find the work of @aldrendaux when you don't trip over sentences starting with the exact same word nearly as much as you would have otherwise ;-) If you need a kind beta with an eye for detail, you won't do better than Aldren.

Accretion is COMPLETE and posted in full on AO3!

Check out the rest of the Big Bang collection on AO3 HERE or download the amazing ebook PDF HERE.

...What are you still doing here? GO READ THESE FICS! RUN!!

[tearlessrain]

Dare I ask what the come/gel incident was?

I was writing some explicit star wars porn in google docs, as one does, and ran a spelling/grammar check on it. it showed "come" (the noun, not the verb) as incorrect and I went to look at the suggestions and what it offered me was "gel" which fascinated me for several reasons.

it clearly knew what I was going for. there is no other context in which "come" and "gel" could remotely be synonyms. it knew I was talking about jizz.

it wanted me to stop saying naughty words because this is a good christian surveillance state and surely I could only have been so crass by mistake.

it somehow put the previous two pieces of information together, yet was unable to determine that no one in the history of humanity has referred to come as "gel". even in star wars no one says that. no one should say that. it's an insane thing to suggest. but gel is a nice wholesome sfw word for a viscous liquid, and come isn't, so obviously that's the superior choice.

idk the combination of apparent context awareness and total detachment from the reality of human language baffles me to this day.